The King's Party
by BlueSuedeShoes23
Summary: The King of Wonderland regularly welcomes his citizens to his notorious palace Parties . Only problem is: refusing the invite is punishable by death, no invitees ever return, and so the kingdom lives in fear. When Anna, a young woman with little to lose, receives her own invitation, she'll discover the horrors of Wonderland run deeper than mere rabbit holes. Very AU.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: Hey there! This story was originally posted on FictionPress, but I've decided recently that it could be considered FanFiction as well. This is a VERY AU Alice in Wonderland fic, updates will be irregular, and I'm a fan of cliffhangers. As they say, honesty is the best policy. Enjoy readers, and leave a review if you'd like. I'd appreciate it. -BlueSuedeShoes23**

I was brushing my teeth when she came. One moment, I'm spitting into the sink. The next, an overstated lady with silver skin is glaring down at me through the mirror. I let out a scream. Minty spittle sprays the glass, and my toothbrush tumbles from my hand.

_How embarrassing._ To my credit, I recover quickly. I take a hand towel lying next to me and wipe the spittle away in a few easy swoops. She can't feel the spit through the glass, but it seems classless to leave it there. An afterthought strikes me, and with haste I dab toothpaste from the corners of my mouth. I toss the cloth aside, turning my absolute attention to the impossible image before me. My heart pounds.

"Jabberwocky!" I say, curtsying low. "This servant humbly welcomes you into her home! May the reflective surfaces you inhabit shine and your hunger satiated without the aid of human blood!" A pause. I feel the woman gazing down at me with her large, pupil-less blue eyes. I chance a glance up. She blinks once, then twice. Is she surprised that I babbled out the appropriate greeting? She should know better; the unusual salutation is all but drilled into everyone's heads during schooling.

"Be at peace, human," the silver maiden replies. "Your greeting protects you...for the moment." I rise, resisting the urge to roll my eyes. What an ego. No human has been slain by a jabberwocky for decades, now that we know how they tick. They can't hurt you if you greet them correctly. It's just one of those quirks; I'm guessing ancient magic is involved. One the Greats must have had a sense of humor. "Your name?"

"Anna Krump."

The jabberwocky does not acknowledge my answer, but waits unmoving and unblinking in the mirror, watching me. I shiver. Though the glower is perturbing, she could do little to me now, in spite of her ominous warning. My greeting made her glass home her glass prison. Strictly speaking, I no longer have the obligation to be polite. With all the hell that these creatures have wrought on humans in the past, it's almost expected to be downright hostile. But frankly, I'd rather mentally prepare myself for what is to come. The transformation.

As if on cue, a large, snake-ish crack forms in a vertical line down the silver woman's brow. It descends fast, with a hissing sound, down her neck and chest until it disappears from view at the bottom of the mirror. Her portrait is before me, split in half as if by the paint of an artist's brush, staring at me with those vacant blue eyes. The façade crumbles with a sigh—one half cascades left, the other right—vanishing at the mirror's two ends. In the woman's place the true form of the jabberwocky looms.

The beast is praying-mantis-like: all snapping forearms, bulbous eyes, and sharp pincers. There is something else there, too—something I know but cannot place—a centipede, an orangutan…maybe a lizard? Yes, all three perhaps, but the features are so horribly and perfectly blended together that I cannot tell one from the other. I hear scales shift in agitation from beyond the mirror, then an upset, gurgling sort of mewl. Feelers tap, tap, tap from inside the glass, twitching up, down, forward, backward, side to side. I stare passively into the jabberwocky's bulging eyes—still pupil-less, but now a deep and disconcerting brown.

This I manage with difficulty; I _hate_ bugs, and the jabberwocky looks too much like one for comfort.

I take a brief but needed moment to collect myself, then speak, "What is your business here?" A shuffling, a grunt. The feelers pause in their detailed inspection of the glass, and the jabberwocky replies now in a high, scratchy voice,

"You know why I am here." I nod grimly. I do. "Nevertheless, it is my duty to deliver the message in full to the recipient." Its pincers extend wide for a brief moment and relax the next. A yawn? "So I will continue lest there be confusion. You, Anna Krump, are _indiscriminately_ invited to our king's castle _no later_ than nine o'clock tomorrow morning in preparation for a grand Party. Until then, we suggest you make the necessary arrangements. All is understood?"

"Yes."

"Very well."

As suddenly as the jabberwocky appeared, it vanishes, leaving no trace of its visit behind.


	2. Chapter 2

I walk into my kitchen and observe a short, grungy-looking woman balancing herself on a stool in order to reach a pot simmering on the stove. My ever faithful servant: Janice. She is to be the first sad soul I deign to tell of my invitation.

"About damn time," she snaps, shoving her tattered sleeves further up her arm as she stirs the contents of the pot aggressively. "Shoulda been invited long ago, if yer askin me. Rich gal like you never mount to nothin, but I betcha the king'll make use of yer." Honestly. Why didn't the woman let me buy her a new blouse?

"Janice," I reply patiently, "What did you use the extra money I gave you last week for? You look dreadful in that." She grumbles something foul, wiping her nose on what is left of her sleeve. I smile. I have this odd soft-spot for the dribbling old maid. She's been in my family for years, and seeing as I have no family left, I suppose she more or less fills an emotional void.

Janice trumpets her nose into the front of her blouse and continues stirring, her scowl carved onto her face like stonework.

Well, I did say more or less.

After instructing her to save the soup for later (who eats soup for breakfast?), and knowing that I'm not to get anything close to the teary-eyed goodbye I crave from her, I snatch an apple from a basket and walk out of the kitchen, through the back door, and into the usual hubbub of street life. A straggly orange cat darts out of my path and into a dim alley as I leisure my way down the middle of the thoroughfare. Wow, quite the crowd already.

"Hellooo. Anybody home?" Silence. It wasn't as if I expected an answer, but the lack of noise still succeeds in depressing me. I crunch into my apple to fill in the quiet. _Only months ago,_ _these streets were crawling with people._ Not anymore. Now everybody sticks to their homes, petrified of being seen by the wrong person.

I dig a hand further into my vest pocket and continue the trek, sensible shoes kicking up dust in my wake. After about ten minutes, I enter a new neighborhood. The houses here are significantly smaller than the ones from my own locality, but they possess a quaint kind of charm. I saunter up to the white door of a particularly adorable home, throw the apple core aside, and knock on it.

It opens almost immediately, and I am thrust inside. "Would you calm yourself? No one's even out there!" The door clicks shut.

"If I've said it once, I've said it a thousand times: _You never know who is out there_. Curfew doesn't end till eight!" An exasperated and freckled young man stares into my eyes, squeezing my shoulder and beseeching me to see reason. I raise my gaze to the textured ceiling.

"I know, I know. You hate the knocking." I look at him. "But I had to say goodbye." His brown eyes grow wide.

"You-you got an invitation?"

"Yes." He lets his hand fall and curses under his breath.

"How long?"

"I have to be there by nine tomorrow morning." He curses again, this time louder.

"Don't give you much time, do they?"

"Suppose not." A pause.

"I'm sorry."

"Me too." He nods, and we stand in the entryway for a brief moment. Finally, he motions me to follow him through the hall. We end up in the living room, where he falls into his favorite over-stuffed armchair. I take my usual place: the right side of the couch. The room radiates pink, floral-print, and doilies. Being here makes me wish my own home wasn't so _modern_. It's so precious—like a dollhouse.

"You do that every time."

"What?" I say, snapping to attention.

"Look around like some...I don't know. Like you're enchanted. Grandma would've loved you." I shrug.

"I can't help myself. It's all so…_cute_." I trace the flower pattern on my armrest with a finger. He rolls his eyes. "I _am_ a girl, Banks."

"A girl with the most horrible fashion sense I've ever seen—_really_. What are you wearing?"

"I like it, and it's comfortable. That's all that matters. Anyway, they're my pajamas." The latter was a lie. He knows this. "But can we talk about something else? I want our last conversation to be a little less judgmental than our majority." Banks shifts uncomfortably in his seat.

"It-it doesn't have to be our last. You might come back—"

"Banks. No. Don't even think like that." I say this for his own good. I've only met him recently—a few weeks ago—but already a tightening friendship has formed. Nevertheless, hardly anyone ever came back from the Parties, and I wasn't about to let him hope. Banks nods, rubbing his hands together pensively.

"Look, I said I'm sorry, but I'm not sorry for you. I'm sorry for myself. I'm losing a good friend." I flash a slight smirk.

"I'm sorry too…but mostly for myself." He cracks a smile at this, and I grin back.

"You seem to be holding up pretty well, Anna. I mean, considering…" I shrug.

"I have a strange mourning process. Give me a few weeks, and I'll be bawling like a baby." He offers a slow, agreeable nod, and I know what it means. _You don't _have _a few weeks._

"So. What are you doing here? Shouldn't you be uh…making preparations?"

"I told Janice about fifteen minutes ago. I imagine she has my suitcase packed and her future living arrangements all sorted by now." He shakes his head, aghast.

"I don't understand that woman. You offer her a home, decent wage, you treat her well—"

"Doesn't mean she has to like me, Banks." At this point, I'm going on the defensive.

"_And_ you even defend the miserable hag! I don't understand either of you—you or her. You're so weird." I shrug again, studying the wallpaper nearest me—fluffy kittens. _Too cute…_

"_Anna_." The inflection on my name causes me to turn, and I shoot him a self-righteous eyebrow raise. I can see him struggling not to roll his eyes, but he masters himself. "Listen. I know you said that it can't be helped, but…I have to. We're going shopping—the merchants are out now, eh? We'll get you everything you need for the Party—my gift. If it ends badly, well…at least I can say I gave you all the edges I could."

"Banks…"

"Sorry, what was that?" Already he was at the entrance of the hallway, wallet in hand. "Curfew's just ended. Let's go."

I rise out of my seat, speechless for a moment. Finally, I manage, "Thank you. It means a lot." He smiles thinly, motioning to the front door. I follow.

It _does_ mean a lot. My heart quails at the knowledge that I actually possess a friend as good as him.

His gesture will be pointless in the grand scheme of things, but it's nice all the same.

The dead have no use for Party favors.


End file.
